CHAPTER EIGHT - A Visit to the Cooks
Fortunately, the time until our next class passed more quickly than it did the day before. That evening at home, I wasn’t as jumpy or upset at everyone, and in a fit of kindness even helped my brother Adrian find his DS game in the oatmeal. (That was before I found out he’d put one of mine in a jar of honey) I was so exhausted from my lack of sleep that I slept like a log that night. Adrian told me the next morning that I sounded like one too—a log being cut by a buzz-saw that was so loud he could hear it through the wall that separated our bedrooms.
The next day at school was as boring as usual. It dragged by like the screech of fingernails on a chalkboard. And then it was time for science again.
On my way to the science classroom, I was once more cornered by Mary Ellen Paul. She’d figured out my escape route through ‘B’ hall to avoid her, so she was waiting outside Mr. Marlin’s door.
“So, this is where you have science, huh?” she said between chews on a wad of black gum that made her teeth look like tar. “Looks pretty dull to me. Mr. Hornsby has a whole bunch of test tubes and junk in his room. There’s nothing in yours but desks!”
“That’s all we need,” I said blandly. “Every day we dissect our desks just like other science students dissect frogs.”
Mary Ellen looked at me in pity. “My poor child,” she crooned, copying the voice and mannerisms of our librarian Miss Worm, “how ever do you come up with such funnies?”
I ignored her, and shoved my way past and into class. As usual, everyone was there ahead of me. From Geake’s black eye and quietness, I figured he’d said something annoying to either Poindexter or Tyson. Everyone else just sat at their desks and either stared vacantly into space, or talked quietly to each other.
“Hey, Drywater!” called out Tyson as I took my seat. “Guess you felt right at home yesterday when we were all turned into worms, huh? Have you ever been anything else?” He seemed to have overcome his fear of Poindexter, although I noticed him glancing nervously in Donny’s direction after he finished talking.
I looked at him coldly. I thought of saying I used to have a pet maggot that must have learned all it knew from him, but then I thought better of it. I wasn’t about to start taunting him, and rely on Poindexter to protect me. That just wouldn’t be cool. I just smiled condescendingly and turned around and ignored him.
The bell rang. Why was Mr. Marlin never on time? As if in answer to my question, he came marching suddenly into the room, carrying an odd assortment of kitchen appliances. “Good middle-of-the-night, class,” he said cheerfully, even though it obviously wasn’t the middle of the night. “I’ve brought a few fascinating items here today that will spark such tremendous excitement among you that we’ll probably have to call the school nurse to give some of you sedatives.”
He then placed on his desk an ugly old toaster that shed thousands of crumbs the minute it touched down, a greasy old grill that looked battered and disgusting, and a spatula that was so twisted and worn that it looked almost more like a toilet bowl brush.
“My, what wondrous appliances,” said Mr. Marlin, beaming down on the collection of junk as if it all had just arrived by special delivery from heaven. “They don’t make such shiny, attractive stuff as this, anymore!”
We just stared blankly. What on earth was he going to do with that stuff?
He then looked up at us and blinked, as if surprised that we were listening. “Since you all had such an enjoyable experience yesterday being earthworms, I thought we might, perhaps, do something similar today.”
Geake, who had quickly recovered from his black eye, raised his hand and started jumping up and down in his seat again. “Are we going to be sea slugs?” he asked excitedly. “Or sewer rats? Or blood-sucking leeches?”
Mr. Marlin laughed pleasantly. “My goodness, no. Nothing so attractive or out of character with your true personalities as those. No, today we shall examine a different sort of creature. A most pleasant and respected one, highly revered in our society.”
I sank down in my desk, and I could see others doing the same. Jumping through a rope to England or having a book come alive was one thing. But the worm experience yesterday had left me feeling kind of creepy. I’d just as soon stay myself.
As if he had read our thoughts, Mr. Marlin said, “You needn’t worry about being something too foreign to your characters. Or about being crushed by the football team. No, I’m sure you’ll find this little experiment very enjoyable.”
He suddenly handed the toaster to Mary Wilson, who sat on the front row. “Would you be good enough to pass this around, please? And as you do, please take just a little peak inside, if you would.” He smiled pleasantly, as Wilson took the toaster, which shed a thousand new crumbs on her desk the minute it touched her hands.
She looked inside it, and I could tell by her grimace that it must be more disgusting on the inside than the outside. Then she turned and handed it to Tyson who sat behind her.
—And then with a loud pop that sounded like a balloon being burst, she disappeared!
“Nothing to worry about!” called out Mr. Marlin, noting the shocked and worried looks on our faces. “Although I can tell by the bland looks on your faces that none of you are concerned anyway. She has merely gone to our little observation point for today, where we will soon all join her. Please keep handing the toaster down the aisle, will you Mr. Tyson?”
From the panicked look on Tyson’s face, I could tell the last thing he wanted to do was pass on the toaster. He knew the minute he did, he’d disappear to who-knew-where.
But never let it be said that Tyson was a coward. Without any hesitation, he passed it back—and promptly disappeared with a pop of his own.
And so it went. Mr. Marlin watched with a benign smile as his class slowly disappeared into some unknown limbo. Some went with terror written all over their faces, while others had looks of grim determination or even excitement. Mr. Geake looked ecstatic when it came his turn, and could hardly sit still.
Finally it was my turn. I took the toaster with a slightly trembling hand from Harrison who sat in front of me, and watched as he disappeared. Then I glanced into the disgusting interior of the toaster—it looked positively rancid—and handed it back to Mary Angel behind me. Better just do it quick and get it over with.
And then with a loud balloon-burst --pop!--I found myself in the last place I had expected. It was the kitchen of the school cafeteria!
But that was nothing compared to the shock I received when I looked around me at my fellow students. I couldn’t believe my eyes. We were all roaches!
“Hey, Drywater!” said Tyson in a roachy sort of voice. “Looks like you’re going to show the rest of us how you live today, huh?”
I didn’t answer. I was too appalled at what I saw around me. It wasn’t just that my classmates were all roaches (for some, it improved their appearance). It wasn’t just that we were in the cafeteria. It was the grime that lay like a wild landscape all around me.
We were under a cabinet, far back where no human could possibly see us. And the level of grime back there was incredible! There were moldy French fry halves that had probably been there since my father went to school. There were peas that looked black as coal, bits of cheese that were growing—growing, mind you—into who knew what. There were pieces of meatloaf mixed with stale cake crumbs that were as hard and crunchy as rocks. The only thing that looked semi normal were a few bits of broccoli that even the roaches—the real ones—had passed over. Kids aren’t the only ones who aren’t fond of that vegetable.
“Ah, I see that we’re all here at last,” said the familiar voice of Mr. Marlin from the front of our group. He looked like the grandfather of all roaches, he was so big. He also sported a tiny little gray roachbeard. As he surveyed our surroundings, he said pleasantly, “Wonderful place, isn’t it? It’s a shame we didn’t come here before lunch, since I’m sure it would have improved all of your appetites.”
I suddenly felt kind of s
ick. But when I looked to my left, I felt even sicker. One of my fellow roach classmates—Mr. Geake, as it turned out—was chomping away happily on a moldy, purple and green bit of chicken that looked 100 years old!
“This is delicious!” cried Geake. “I never knew rotten chicken could taste so good!” I felt suddenly like throwing up.
Mr. Marlin laughed merrily. “As your colleague has discovered, our transformation into roaches is a total one. If any of you care to taste the delicacies around you, I’m sure you’ll find them as tasty and tantalizing as they would be to any genuine roach!”
I felt so woozy, I dropped to my knees—which wasn’t far, since roach legs are very close to the ground anyway.
“Now, if you’ll all be good enough to follow me, we’ll take a look around,” said Mr. Marlin casually, as if turning his class of 5th graders into roaches was a common occurrence. He trotted off—more like darted off, the quick way roaches do—heading for the heart of the kitchen. However, he remained under the kitchen cabinet where we could not be seen.
“Mr. Marlin, sir,” cried Mr. Geake. Having finished his bite of chicken, he now skittered with incredible roach speed to catch up. “If some of the cooks see us, what will happen?”
“They’ll probably try to smash us,” said Mr. Marlin casually. “Or use bug spray on us. There are some marvelous bug killers on the market these days, you know. They kill instantly—very handy to have around the kitchen.”
My legs were trembling so hard it was hard to walk—or rather skitter, since roaches don’t really walk. What on earth were we doing here?
As if he had read my mind, Mr. Marlin said, “We are here today to gain a new perspective on life. A view from the bottom, so to speak. I dare say, you’ll never smash a roach again without considering, for a split second at least, that you were once in its shoes. And then, of course, you’ll go ahead and step on it anyway, and end its miserable life with a loud pop, such as roaches make when stepped on.”
We had reached the edge of the cabinet, and found ourselves staring across a vast expanse of floor that looked bigger than a football field. On the other side of it was a massive round kettle in which something was cooking. My roach nose twitched in excitement, and my antenna twittered around as if they were going crazy. Whatever was cooking sure smelled good!
“There is our goal,” said Mr. Marlin, to our amazement. “That large cooking pot contains a particularly savory vegetable stew, being cooked for the unfortunates who have been given the option to stay after school and do make-up work. That’s something I’m sure none of you have ever done.”
He was right there. Everyone of us had been requested to do it, but none of us had (except perhaps Mr. Geake). We would sooner grab a pair of pliers and pull out our own teeth.
“Mr. Marlin, sir,” said Geake, jumping up and down again as if he had to go the bathroom. “If we go across to that pot, aren’t we likely to be seen by the cooks?”
“Probably,” said Mr. Marlin as if that fact was completely unimportant. “I tend to hope we all make it, of course. Are all of you fast runners?”
No one answered. He wasn’t serious, was he? Surely, we weren’t going to cross that huge expanse of open, visible floor space, where we would easily be spotted and then hunted down like the miserable bugs we were.
As if he had, once again, read our minds, Mr. Marlin gave us all a quick roach smile (if there is such a thing) and then darted off across the open floor, calling out after us, “Follow me, please!”
Only Geake was stupid enough to follow—which proved to be incredibly wise of him, in the end. With tremendous speed, Mr. Marlin and Geake made it across the floor. The rest of us looked around nervously, and were amazed to see that none of the cooks had noticed anything.
“I can see,” called out Mr. Marlin to us, in a distant voice, “by your enthusiastic tendency to follow without hesitation that you have no fear of the cooks around us. The fact that they stand ready to smash you happily to a pulp if given a chance has no bearing on your tiny insect minds.”
I suddenly heard Tyson snarl next to me. “Nobody calls me chicken and gets away with it!” Is that what Mr. Marlin had just said? If so, I hadn’t picked up on it! But regardless of anything, Tyson darted madly across the open space to join Mr. Marlin and Geake.
That did it. Now that going across the open space had become a sign of bravery—or cowardice—it was obvious that we all had to do it. My roach heart pounded madly in my roach exoskeleton. This was insane! Why were we risking or lives just to show everyone we weren’t afraid? After all, everyone of us knew that we were all petrified!
Suddenly Steel darted across the floor, followed—surprisingly—by Wall, Wilson and Peterson. They all made it safely. Bowly, Angel and Kirchner followed, as well as a few others. They made it too! Poindexter didn’t go yet, but stayed at my side.
“Hey, Drywater!” taunted Tyson from across the open space. “Gonna be the only wimpy one that doesn’t go?”
I was willing to be. Who wants to be stepped on, after all? But of course, I knew that cowardice wasn’t an option when you had to live with a crew like Steel and Tyson in your class. Might as well hand them a baseball bat and say, ‘Go ahead; beat me up as bad as you can!’
I closed my eyes and offered a short prayer, then darted madly out into the open space. I could hear Poindexter right behind me. A surge of gratitude coursed through me, that he had waited in order to come with me.
Suddenly a massive shadow sprang across the space between me and the rest of the class. Looking up, I was horrified to see the angry face of one of the cooks glaring down at me. And then she swung her broom!
After that everything seemed to go in slow motion, like one of those old fashioned movies. Slowly I saw the broom swinging nearer and nearer. I was unable to move. Then I felt a shove. Poindexter was pushing me! Quick as lightning, I darted off—not toward Marlin and the others, but away from the broom!
Whack! The broom crashed into the floor where I had been standing a split second before. Did it get Poindexter? There was no way to know.
“You lousy, little pest!” yelled the cook as she charged after me, swinging her broom wildly.
Another shadow blocked my path. It was another cook! She must have been a tap dancer in her spare time, because quick as lightning she stuck out her foot to smash me. I darted to the left. So did her foot. I darted to the right. Her foot did too. And then I saw the broom swinging down again from the cook behind me.
This was it! The bitter end. I closed my eyes and charged forward, knowing that at any second my exoskeleton would be crunched flat as a sheet of paper, and my white, roach innards would ooze out all over.
But it didn’t happen. I opened my eyes—and was amazed at what I saw.
I was flying! Really flying! I could feel my roach wings beating powerfully through the air, saw the startled look of horror as I zipped past the cook’s face (and nearly got snagged in her hairnet), and saw the entire kitchen below me. This was fantastic!
“This is wild!” cried a strangled voice beside me. Turning my head (which isn’t easy for a roach to do), I was surprised to see Poindexter flying next to me. He had made it too! He wasn’t smashed!
Together, we swooped over the kitchen. We could see the shiny pots and pans, the heads of lettuce, the moldy bread used for today’s lunch, the startled faces of the cooks, and the cheering mass of roaches under the big cooking pot.
And that’s where we chose to land. After all, roaches never fly for long. With a noisy buzz and an incredible rush of speed, we shot under the big pot and knocked over our fellow roach students as if they were a bunch of bowling pins.
“Well done,” said Mr. Marlin in a kindly tone, as he looked down on Poindexter and I with his protruding roach eyes. “A masterful job of evasion, well executed.”
Then he looked up, as if suddenly remembering something of minor importance. “Of course, your landing here has alerted the cooking staff to our presence. And they are,
even now, approaching with two cans of bug spray, three brooms, and a loaf of moldy bread to throw at us.”
“What do we do?” screamed half the class in total terror.
“It does seem that we have only seconds left to live,” said Mr. Marlin casually, as he scratched his roach chin with his antenna. “So the solution is obvious. Let’s all just sit down quietly and calmly on the floor while we meet our bitter end.”
We all stared at him as if he were mad. And then the whole scene wavered. It was as if we were watching a TV out of focus, one that just kept getting worse the more you adjusted the dial.
And suddenly we were back in class. Mr. Marlin stood smiling before us. On his desk were the disgusting old toaster, spatula and greasy old grill. Relief washed over all of us like a tidal wave. We weren’t going to be smashed!
“My, what a tediously boring day we’ve all had!” said Mr. Marlin with a yawn. “I really think you students live lives that are too calm. You should try to get out and do more—take more risks.”
No one answered him. Our hearts were still pounding too hard.
Suddenly the bell rang. Mr. Marlin looked over at it as if it were a meatball that someone had just splattered all over the wall. “Well, how time flies when you’re being bored,” he said conversationally. “Class dismissed. Try to look more lively tomorrow.” He turned and began scratching with his pencil on the whiteboard, making a highly irritating scraping sound.
As I got shakily to my feet, I noticed Poindexter looking at me, a big smile on his face. He gave me a thumbs up sign. I smiled weakly in return. Then he stood up and walked out of class.
And with wobbly knees that felt like they might buckle any second, I followed him.
My Science Teacher is a Wizard Page 8